


Losing Him Was Red

by robinlikeitshot



Series: JayTim Week 2020 [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, DID I MENTION SOULMATES, Falling In Love, First Dates, Fluff, Free Day Prompt, JayTim Week, JayTim Week 2020, M/M, Or Is It?, Soulmate AU, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24543241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinlikeitshot/pseuds/robinlikeitshot
Summary: The first time Tim saw red was when the Red Hood slammed him to the ground and slit his throat.Tim knows, he knows what it means that he can finally start to see the blood pooling at the edges of his cape, the brightness of his uniform that had always been just shades of mottled gray, and he doesn’t want to think about it because-Because Jason Todd is his soulmate. And his soulmate wants him dead.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: JayTim Week 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1770199
Comments: 91
Kudos: 665
Collections: JayTimWeek





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU where when you fall in love with your soulmate you start seeing colors for the first time *hands*  
> ngl y'all this was my favorite mainly because i kinda sorta loved the way it turned out, and i hope you like it too  
> (the title is from the song 'Red' by Taylor Swift because i still don't know how to make original titles that arent crack)  
> Enjoy:)

The first time Tim saw red was when the Red Hood slammed him to the ground and slit his throat. 

The memory’s always stayed with him, the blood pooling at the edges of his cape, the brightness of his uniform that had always been just shades of mottled gray. The splash of color the Red Hood’s helmet painted as black crept up his vision.

Waking up in the infirmary, Tim can’t breathe as he takes in a part of the world that he’d once been blind to. Kori’s speaking, trying to talk to him, but all Tim can do is stare at her hair, and when Kon’s voice catches him, he fixates on the shield he wears. Because Tim knows, he knows what it means, that he can see Bart’s unruly hair truly for the first time, that the greys have finally started to _bleed_ , and he doesn’t want to think about it. 

Because Jason Todd is his soulmate. And his soulmate wants him dead.

_____________

Tim continues typing after his momentary pause at the roar of the Red Hood’s motorcycle echoing throughout the dark cave. Bruce had ordered him to begin including his observations and deductive reasoning behind decisions made in the field in his report, an order that made him wonder just how much the man truly trusted him for all that he called him a son, which meant that Tim was still at the computer long after the others had already showered and gone upstairs.

Truthfully, Tim could have just as well completed his report in his room, but the barbs Damian had been throwing at him earlier for his screw-up with the Riddler’s game, leading to him taking a knife to the arm, made him a bit reluctant to go back upstairs. He also didn’t want to see if his old room was still standing, didn’t want to know if it wasn’t.

Tim’s shaken out of thoughts by the wet sound of Jason’s heavy boots walking up to the computer. The man had taken an involuntary swim in the harbor earlier that night and was decidedly not in a good mood, a fact that made Tim’s fingers twitch for the bo he’d left on the other end of the cave.

As Jason drops his helmet onto the table, flecks of water barely managing to miss the keyboard, Tim looks up at the still-masked man as the world slowly bleeds into focus.

It had been a couple of months since he’d last seen the man, and the colors had slowly faded till Tim could tell that the blood seeping through his bandaged arm was red, but he didn’t feel any awe at its vividity, at the brightness of his pulse. Eyes landing on the man’s scowl, though, the hood in front of him immediately bursts into color, the bandage now a garish stain. 

It almost hurts, the sharpness, almost as much as Jason’s next words. “You down here waitin’ for me, Replacement? I’m flattered.” Well, it’s not so much his words as his gauntlet-ed hand coming to rest right below his shoulder and on his still-fresh wound. He doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t press, just keeps it there as a dull threat. It’s what tells Tim that Jason doesn’t know what they are to each other, that Jason doesn’t feel much more for him than resentment and hate. 

Tim has loved the man, ever since he flew from building to building in the colors that the other despised him for donning, and when he came back from the dead their bond manifested. Tim sees the colors that there are whole ballads written about, feels the ache in his bones every time his soulmate takes a hit. But he also knows it’s one-sided, that Jason doesn’t feel anything close to love for him, and Tim. Tim respects that, and he refuses to tell the man anything that might force his hand. If anything, he feels guilty, guilty that the man got stuck with him as a soulmate when he deserves so much more.

These days, Tim had heard the man laughing off the notion of having a fated bond, which always made something deep inside of him ache, but it’s better than the man knowing that it’s Tim who he’s fated for. Tim, who he’s tried to kill multiple times. Tim, the scrawny teenager who never fails to take his insults of _Replacement_ and _Pretender_ without a word. At the very least, the man has mellowed down from trying to off him every time they see each other, and now only deals in jabs and non-lethal maiming.

“Just finishing up my report, Hood,” he answers calmly, feeling anything but as the man leans in to read the blur of script on the screen, heart jackhammering at their proximity. 

“Always going above and beyond, aren’t you, Replacement,” he huffs, and Tim can feel that blackness curl up inside him, telling him exactly how the older man feels. It’s a complete invasion of privacy, and Tim’s able to lock it away most days, but never when he’s near. Never when those jarring images of black and red and green are so bright in his periphery. 

It seems a bit childish to respond with, _Bruce told me to_ , and it would probably only serve to piss the other man off, so he remains silent. He wants to go back to typing but he doesn’t want to make Jason think he’s ignoring him, so he rests his hands in his lap, close enough to his exploding pellets if it comes down to that. 

“Relax, Replacement.” Jason rolls his eyes, and Tim has to fight back the instinctive flinch when the man ruffles his hair. “I’m just picking up some files from Dickhead before I leave for Outlaw Island again.”

Tim wonders what it means for them that Jason’s telling him where he’s going to be, then dispels the hopeful notions that creep up on him. “He’s already gone up,” he replies, keeping his voice as flat and neutral as possible as he pretends to read over his half-finished report. 

“Well, I won’t stick around. Tell him to send it through Babs or he’s not getting the shipment receipts from tonight’s showdown.”

Tim nods his assent and Jason picks up his helmet. He tries to tamp down the wish that he could stare at the color for longer and watches as Jason walks away.

“See ya, Replacement,” he calls out, straddling his bike, and there’s so many things he wants to say to that but. 

But Jason’s already gone and only the cacophony of grey bats are there to hear him say, “Goodbye, Jason.”

_______________

Red Robin’s cape snaps in the heavy wind as he crouches next to a stone gargoyle outside of City Hall on a stakeout. The sky was drab and grey, like everything else in the city, and it was forecasted to rain before the night was up. Tim had hoped that his target would show up by then, but given the last six, fruitless hours he’d spent waiting, he doubted it.

It’s also why he doesn’t protest Hood’s arrival on the rooftop. Turning around, he hardly has a moment to get used to the bright smears of color before the man’s throwing a punch at him.

Barely suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, he ducks, spinning and landing a hit on the man’s heavily armoured lower back. Hood snarls and rolls, up and trying to tackle his legs in less than a second.

They go like that for a couple of minutes, till they’re both tired out and pumping with adrenaline. Eventually, Tim flops to the floor of the roof, and Jason joins him after a moment of deliberation. 

“What,” he panted, “was that for?”

“A little birdy told me you were all by your lonesome. Figured you wouldn’t turn down some company.”

These days, Tim and Jason’s relationship was more along the lines of witty banter and play fighting than attempted murder, Red Robin being the only Bat that the Red Hood would tangle with. Tim was grateful for it, grateful for the colors that appeared from meeting the man almost every two to three weeks, and grateful for warmth seeping into his chest despite the cold. 

“I might actually just head home,” he admits. “I think the lead was probably a dead end.”

“Heard it was going to rain soon,” Jason offers, and for a second Tim wishes that they were just two people sitting on top of a rooftop and talking about the weather. The moment passes, though, and Tim turns to him.

“What, afraid of getting your hair wet, _Hood_?” he grins.

“Smartass.”

“But I’m your smartass.” Tim holds his breath, and when the older man doesn’t reply he feels the panic creeping over him. But then the bond inside of him, the open fuse that used to spill over with anger and hate, glowed warmly. 

“Yeah.” He smiled, not fighting the genuine happiness that spreads over his features at the man’s admission. 

Tim is debating whether or not it would be acceptable for him to scooch over a little bit more so their hands touch when lightning strikes, illuminating the whole city. A crack of thunder sounds before the downpour begins and Jason yelps as they’re drenched in seconds. Tim laughs, as he opens his palm and watches the water pool.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hood watching him and he turns. Smiles at him. The hood covers his face, and Tim’s not really sure if he wants to know the man’s expression, but then- 

“I have a safehouse nearby,” he murmurs, low as if he didn’t want Tim to hear it, which is ridiculous since they’re apparently the only two people stupid enough to be on a roof in the middle of a thunderstorm. “You can clean up and I might even let you borrow one of my cars.”

Tim’s breath hitches as he looks at him, trying not let the shock show on his face at what Jason is offering.

“Yeah, okay.”

_________________

They race each other on the slick rooftops, from intercepting each other’s grapples to flat-out sprinting. It’s exhilarating and fun and Tim's not sure what to think, because it’s, it’s just a game, but when Jason pins him on the fire escape outside of his safe house, it’s something _more_.

If he wanted to, Tim could imagine them in this same position years ago, but with decidedly more animosity between them. He could imagine they were inside, that Jason’s helmet was off and he could see his eyes _darken_ \- if he wanted to. 

Instead he breathes, fogging up the helmet with how close they are as he listens to the rain pound around them. They both hold still for a second, when another crack of lightning flashes behind him, casting Jason into a dark silhouette straight out of a horror film. But Tim has never felt so safe lying in between his arms, the rattling drainpipe digging into his shoulder blade. 

The crash of thunder breaks the image, and they both go inside as Tim tries to quiet his pounding heart and ignore the strange nervousness emanating from the bond. 

Standing there, dripping water onto the hardwood, Tim comes to a realization. This isn’t a safehouse. There are no boxes or open suitcases overflowing with ammunition. No, Jason brought him to his _apartment_. 

“Quit dripping on the floor, Timbo,” is preceded by a towel thrown his way, and as Tim turns to catch it he sees. He sees Jason, his helmet and mask off, an easy expression on his face. He can’t hide the nervousness that Tim feels in his core, though, and Tim wonders what’s wrong for a second before- oh. 

There’s a flame burning bright beneath everything that screams Jason, a warmth he’s never felt before and if Tim was more romantic he’d think it was almost curling towards his heart. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s alright.” There’s a bit of red smattering the man’s cheeks as he looks away, and Tim. He wants to see it darken and spread and he - he really needs to stop thinking about this because the man is probably just cold and Tim really needs to stop enabling this kind of wishing.

“You can use the extra shower down the hall,” the man says, jutting his chin in the direction of said shower. “I’ll leave some clothes out for you.” Is he fidgeting? He is, twisting the wet towel he’d been rubbing his hair with in his hands, pretty teal eyes flickering all over, anywhere but him. Tim couldn’t help but find it helplessly endearing.

“Thank you,” he replies. Wonders at that flame as he walks to the bathroom and locks the door. Turns it on and checks the temperature. Pulling off his suit gives him a mental reprieve before he’s stepping into the warm shower, water cascading down his shoulders in a weak imitation of the raging storm outside. 

For the first time in his life, he concentrates on his bond, the phantom feeling in his chest, and he almost chokes as he feels what’s in it. Scarlet trust, cardinal hope, a dripping, oozing well of crimson guilt. There’s dark pain, mixed with the lurid green the man’s eyes take on when the Pit takes the reins, but it's muted, dull. And then, on top of all that, there’s a. A faint flickering. It’s tentative, hesitant, but it’s _there_. 

Love. Well. Tim’s getting ahead of himself, but there’s definitely an attraction there, definitely a curiosity, the saturation a faint rose red, like the budding tint of the first rose in spring and - 

The water’s turning cold. Tim quickly scrubs the suds out of his hair, trying to keep his mind from straying and thinking about how he’s going to smell like the other man for the foreseeable future.

Turning the water off, Tim drys off with one of the towels Jason’s kept in the cupboard under the sink. Wrapping it around his waist, he leaves the bathroom and walks back to the kitchen where Jason’s already dressed, stirring something that smells heavenly on the stove. 

He tries not to smile at the burst of warmth he feels when Jason sees him. 

“The clothes are on the table,” Jason says, pointing to where the neatly folded sweatpants and T-shirt rest.

“Thanks.”

He takes them and goes back to the bathroom, trying not to blush at the eyes that follow his retreating back. The bathroom’s a bit less humid than before he left, but it’s still warm and Tim takes his time in pulling on the clothes. 

He has a few clothes in a couple of Jason’s other safehouses, replacements for his gear, but none in the man’s apartment. The ones in his hands are all his, and Tim traces their outlines, barely holding himself back from burying his face into the overly soft material and just inhaling their scent. As it is, the shirt is bright orange and the pants are a brown-red, and they clash, something the other man couldn’t have known since he couldn’t see their colors. This sours Tim’s thoughts a little bit and he quickly pulls them on.

Once they’re on, he pads out again, leaning against the kitchen doorway as he watches Jason. The man hasn’t realized he’s there, and he’s humming quietly. A small smile curls on his face as he watches him move about the kitchen, and then he’s suppressing a laugh as the man turns around and startles at seeing him there.

He can feel the embarrassment the other man does at being caught, but it's followed by a splash of bright amusement. Tim catches the knife the man throws at him, looking incredulously at the blunt end of the instrument, then back to him. 

Tossing the butter knife on the counter, Tim walks up to him, stepping _just_ close enough that their arms brush and he could lean over and see what was in the pot. Soup.

“Nice shot.” 

“I know.”

Tim shoots him a wry grin. “Don’t get too cocky. You still didn’t hit me.”

“I’ll make sure to try harder next time,” he throws back, ladling the soup into two bowls and setting them on the table. There are two chairs, a bit closer together than was traditional, but there’s nothing much traditional about the wet costume he’d left on the floor of Jason’s bathroom either and so. He sits.

Jason sits down next to him. Their knees brush, underneath the table. 

Taking the proffered spoon, Tim eats what is probably one of the best meals in his life. He’s fairly sure the recipe is from Alfred, and they both banter back and forth as they avoid talking about the rose lying on the table next to Tim’s elbow.

Tim. Tim’s not the most romantic of people. But he knows Jason’s loved it since he used to live in the manor, has read his musings in the side margins of well-worn classics, no matter what opinions about soulmates he has now. And he knows what Jason’s trying to do, that they’re, technically, on a _date_. Which is, confusing. Because the man has no idea about their soulbond, the other side of the wire achingly empty, and he. He doesn’t love him. 

Tim is just coming to terms with the fact that Jason might just _like_ him, when the man brings it up. 

“I had a good time tonight, Tim,” he starts, and Tim wants to interrupt, to ask how it was any different from any of their other hangouts, but he’s not as emotionally inept as some people like to think, and so he smiles.

Replies. “So did I. Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I’ve eaten this well in almost four months.” Or at least, it’s been four months since that disastrous family dinner at the manor. At least he got leftovers, which there were quite a lot of as no one had actually eaten much.

“I- Would you like to do this again?” he asks, and Tim doesn’t think that he’s ever heard Jason Todd stutter, but then again, he’s never seen him blush and yet the brightness bleeding into his cheeks is as strong as when he’d walked out with nothing but a towel around his waist.

“You mean have dinner?”

“I mean have a date.” So they’re finally labelling it now, good. Tim picked up the rose, which had been carefully divested of all thorns. He ran his fingers over the smooth bumps and brought the bloom up to his lips.

He thinks about all the possibilities, about everything that could happen both good or bad, how this could potentially worsen the impact the bond has on him-

Before setting the flower down, because none of this had ever affected his decisions when it came to the man waiting for an answer in front of him, and he revels in the pure _happiness_ sweeping through the bond as he replies.

“I’d love to, Jay.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've been dating for nine months when it finally happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, looking at the comments and realizing that people haven't realized the extent I'm going to take the angst tag:...im sorry  
> no but like, major angst up ahead y'all  
> Enjoy:')

They've been dating for nine months when it finally happens.

Tim's sitting on the couch, more daydreaming than actually working on the reports he's supposed to be filing, when Jason gets home.

Home. It's such an interesting word. For Tim home was never the big empty mansion his parents left him in, and soon after, the manor stopped being a safe place for him. He'd skipped around the globe, then come back to dusty memories and an endless array of safe houses. He knew it was much the same for Jason, never staying in one place for too long.

And they still had their safe houses, but they were just that. Houses. Home was a small apartment in the Upper East Side, with coffee stains on all the tables and stray bullets hidden in between the couch cushions. Home was where Tim could stop being Timmy Wayne, could drop Red Robin. It's where Jason could take his hood off without constantly looking over his shoulder.

Tim's still musing when the sound of Jason's heavy boots fill the hallway. The man drops a kiss on the top of his messy hair, and Tim smiles up at him.

"Hey, Timbo. Watcha thinkin' 'bout up there?" he murmurs, stroking his cheek.

"Just us," he breathes, just to watch Jason's eyes soften, a small smile curling around his handsome features. Just to watch the way his lips part, the flush rise to his cheeks, as suddenly the bond inside him _explodes_. 

Tim’s up and over the couch in a flash, but Jason’s faster. Back pressed against the door, Tim’s arms held out in front of him like he’s trying to approach a startled animal, they stare at each other.

“You-, _you_. Why didn’t you _tell_ me,” is the only thing the man can gasp out, as his eyes grow wet. “Why didn’t you, you _knew_ and-”

The bond, the live wire inside of him is on fire, aching and pulsing with bloody rage. The sorrowful well of green rising up in him carves a cavity in his chest, and Tim presses a hand to it, tears rising to his own as he slides to the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t _have_ to say anything, because his soulmate can feel it, feel the awful genuineness of his apology, the _pleading_ that colors his words. 

There’s a thousand different reasons why he didn’t tell Jason, and the man knows all of them, but right now he’s trying to process the stark red of his helmet, innocuously sitting on the counter. The bright blue of the sky outside, for once not raining. The colors matched in his boyfriend’s bloodshot eyes.

“When did you know.” His voice is like steel, like the sharpest of knives, the first time Tim had seen the color of his own blood-

He doesn’t say anything, but the hand fluttering to his throat, to cover that scar gives him away. Jasons’s face goes ashen. 

Tim can’t get out another apology before he’s standing in front of empty air, the door swinging shut.

_____________

Tim lies on the floor for two days before anyone finds him. 

He had a meet-up scheduled with Dick that afternoon, and when he hadn’t shown up the Bats had sent out an alert for him. He’d always checked in before going dark, and the fact that he hadn’t this time was… concerning.

It’s Stephanie who finally finds him. They hadn’t told anyone where their apartment was, so it took the girl a while to comb that part of the city, but eventually she found him. 

As the window slides open, Tim can’t even bring himself to look at her. He faintly files away the muted voices coming from the comm as she sends the all-clear before crouching down next to him.

He hears her mutter, ‘unresponsive’ before checking his pulse. When she finds nothing wrong with it, she gives his shoulder a little shake and his bangs fall away from his eyes.

“Oh, _Timmy_ ,” she murmurs, taking in his bloodshot eyes and tear-tracked cheeks. "What happened?"

"He hates me." It's the only thing he can say, the only thing he can think of as the bond inside overflows with green and red and _hurt_. 

"Who-" she finally notices the small details set into the apartment, Jason's spare hood on the counter, his jacket thrown on the armchair. His Glock resting in pieces on the table. Her eyes widen in recognition, as her voice laces with distrust, anger. "What did he do?"

"He-" Pauses, because the man hadn't _done_ anything. Anything other than fall in love with him.

"He left," he shoves out, throat dry, and he hadn't cried in the whole two days since the man had left him but now, the heaving sobs are wrenching their way out of his chest, as he breaks apart pathetically in his best friend's arms.

"Steph, why did he _leave_?"

Steph doesn't say anything, just holds him tighter as he falls, rocking them back and forth. Once he quiets down a little, the pain from his bond overriding his need to apologize for getting her suit dirty, she speaks. 

"I'm sorry, Tim. I know how much he meant to you." If only she knew just how much, how much he'd cherished every moment his bond had lit up, had sung to him, how loud it's screams were now. 

"Do- do you want to go home?" she asks, and he's thankful for that, knowing that if it was Bruce or Dick they probably would have just tranqed him with the state he's in. And even though Tim's home is here, here in this apartment with his boyfriend, his soulmate, Jason's not here, doesn’t want to be, and Tim would rather be in the Manor than stay. 

So he nods his head, burying his face in her soft golden hair as she heaves him up. He's a dead weight by this point, can barely walk as Steph guides him over to the window, hand wrapped tight around his waist. 

His eyes fall shut while she's swinging them over the city, and just for a second, he wonders what would happen if she just. Let go.

_____________

It's three weeks before Bruce allows him back on the streets. As much as Tim wants to ignore the man and go out anyway, do the one thing he feels he's useful for, the burning from his bond keeps him lying in bed.

Hundreds of different emotions spill from it, anger, betrayal, heartache. Tim feels them echoed in himself. Sometimes, it threatens to overwhelm him and he thrashes, screaming his throat raw.

After the first time, one person is always in the room with him. Usually, it's Dick, though Steph tries to come over as much as possible. He knows that Dick wants to ask, wants to know what happened but he won't, not after the things he'd shouted when Bruce had first tried interrogating him down in the Cave. 

Instead, the man just holds him, trying to hug away the rasping of his throat as he fights not to cry.

One day when his bond is overflowing with violent guilt and Tim feels as if his chest is going to burst open from it, he tells Steph everything. She holds his hand as words spill from his mouth, about the color of Jason's hood and blue of his eyes and the consuming, heart-wrenching anger. About the sparks he'd feel every time they'd kiss, about the throbbing of the bond when Jason left, betrayal and anger and a strange sense of panic that rushed through him.

She's sad that he didn't tell her, he knows, but she's angrier at Jason. She does a good job of hiding it, but he wasn't called a detective for nothing. 

And then she asks the question that he's trying his best not to think about. 'How is it still intact? If he's really left-"

"I don't know," he replies. Because if Jason's really feeling everything that his bond's telling him, if the man truly _hates_ him, then how is it still _there?_

"Do you think, that maybe," and she's trying really hard not to push, and Tim would be thankful under any other circumstance, "you should break the bond yourself?"

It would save him a lot of pain, all the anguish, and the ache in his chest. He'd be able to go back outside without feeling like he was going to faint, could get back on the streets. Live his life as if the past year never happened, like it didn’t matter. 

None of those reasons stop the panic that crosses his face at the suggestion, though, at the idea that the brilliant world he'd gotten used to would fade away, that the other side of his bed would always be cold, that his lover's face wouldn't be the last thing he'd see.

Because there's a reason that most soulmates don't break their bonds after they've connected, because the tearing of a soulbond is irreversible, leaving an ache, an empty hole in the person for the rest of their life, reminding them of everything they'd lost, and the fact that Stephanie's even suggesting it tells him just how much it hurts her to see him this way.

"I can't," he says, almost pleading. "I won't, not unless he asks." Because the one who does the tearing is always the person who it affects the most. Tim wonders idly if that's the reason that Jason hasn't already done it.

_____________

Finally, the heat from his bond tempers, gradually softening and muting, or maybe he just gets used to the flames, used to the burn that comes with every breath, until he can almost pretend that there's nothing wrong. 

The second Tim's off bedrest, he's out of the Manor, hating the way Bruce's eyes follow him out of rooms and the way Dick's eyes flash with pity every time they glance at him. It's more than enough for Tim to realize that they'd bugged his room, that they'd heard- well, everything. 

He goes back to his Perch, ignores the dusty bed, and immediately dives into his unfinished cases, burying himself in work. That night, he suits up again, hitting the streets like he'd never left.

The rumors that had spread about Red Robin's disappearance die away as he swings over the city, doing what he was trained for since he was thirteen years old. The feeling of wind whistling in his ears is enough for him to forget about the aching bond, and he unconsciously avoids all the places that remind him of Jason.

It's good. _He's_ good, for the first time in four weeks. His bond is still there, still present, and he knows his family is confused why he's still keeping it when he's so obviously been _rejected_ but. Tim has always been a bit sentimental and, well. He can deal.

Another week passes by, and he's doing better day by day, with Steph dropping every few days to check up on him under the guise of hanging out. 

One day, when they're having the classic post-patrol snack of chinese takeout, she asks, affecting casualness, "When are you going back to his apartment? To get your things," she clarifies, seeing his confused expression. "I noticed like, a bunch of stuff missing and I remember seeing it over there. I could come with you if you don't want to go alone?" 

And he still can't get over how much she's helped him, still can't stop thanking her for being there when everything spilled over. When he had, she'd just smiled at him, albeit sadly, and said, "You'd do the same for me." And he would, in a heartbeat. Though the way things are going now, she and Cassandra don't seem to be breaking up any time soon.

"I'd. I'd like that." Because even though he's honest to goodness scared, scared of seeing the beautiful thing he'd completely shattered, he. He thinks it would be good. To move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo were almost done yall if u liked pls drop a kudos or a comment, and if u'd like to come yell at me about hurting The Boys, my tumblr is robinlikeitshot and my asks are always open:)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're standing exactly where they were five weeks ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to everyone who wanted jaytim endgame: this is for you  
> and to everyone who didn't: sorry, but i am Weak  
> can i just say, i am positively overwhelmed at the response this fic has gotten. a big thank you to all the people who left kudos and commented, i think I've read over those like five times by now lol  
> ngl, i didn't rlly know how to end this, so my inner demon decided to just kill them off so uh  
> Enjoy:)

They're standing exactly where they were five weeks ago. Tim has his back pressed against the couch, and Jason stands in the doorway, but this time their roles are reversed. 

Tim's heart feels like it's going to burst from the apologies, the colors that spark as he takes in the other man's wide eyes. There are tears dripping down from his own, his breath coming in short pants because _he came back_. 

He. It hurts so much, so much more than he could imagine, seeing Jason there. Standing in front of him. Like Tim hadn't spent the last few weeks lying prone, head swimming with the sheer anger the man had been giving off. He wants to yell, to scream at him, to bang his fists against his chest, to hold him tightly so he would never leave again. 

"Hey, Tim."

Tim doesn't reply. He can't reply, all the words, the things he wants to say getting stuck in his throat before they can trip out of his mouth. Jason takes a step into the apartment and Stephanie tackles him. 

Oh, right. Tim had almost forgotten the other girl was here, so wrapped up in the swirl of emotion coming from the bond. 

"How. Dare. You!" she shouts, throwing punches at the older man, who dodges them with careful efficiency. "You don't just get to-," her right hook connects with the man's jaw, knocking him against the wall, "-come back here-," another to the abdomen, Tim wonders why Jason isn't fighting back, "-after disappearing for weeks on end-"

Jason grabs her fist, millimeters from his eyes. 

"You hurt him," she whispers, eyes like hard steel.

"I know," he replied. "I'm sorry."

"Steph," Tim finally found his voice, and her name rasps as he calls her. 

She turns her head, not letting her raised fist unclench.

"Please."

Steph looks at him, a strange dampness to her eyes, before, "Yeah, okay." She let go. Walked over to him. Put her hand on his shoulder, forcing his eyes to drift over and look into her own. 

"Shout, and I'll be here in a sec. Alright?"

He nodded his head, not trusting himself to speak. She walked back to the kitchen, shooting Jason one last distrustful glance before it's just the two of them and a room full of color.

________________

"I'm sorry."

"I know." They both fall into the same silence because, well. How could he _not_? 

"I didn't mean to be gone so long, I swear," and he talks fast, like he's scared Tim's going to interrupt him. "I wanted to come back three weeks ago, but Roy had this situation in space and I wanted to come home so bad," a pause, as if wasn't sure he was allowed to say it anymore, "sweetheart, but I had to save him and then there was this whole thing with portals-"

He sighed, scrubbing at his face. Tim finally began to notice all the tell-tale signs that Jason had worn himself out; the man's hair was a tangled mess, there were deep circles beneath his eyes, almost enough to challenge Tim's on a bad day. His clothes are rumpled too, and the man's fingers keep making aborted twitches. 

"I just, I'm sorry, ok. The amount of pain you sent me... I'm sorry, Tim. And I. I understand, why you didn't tell me. We weren't in a good place back then." Jason looked up and Tim can't stop the gasp that rises up at the feeling of a sensation that couldn't be described as anything but flowers blooming. "But I realized that doesn't mean that we were in a bad place now. Of course, I fucked that up, but, Tim, I-"

Tim doesn't want to hear him apologize again, say sorry for something the man had no control over, and even though it still hurts, it's in the past, and Tim. Tim doesn't want to keep living in the past, in the blood and the pain and the secrets. So-

"I forgive you."

Jason's silent for a second, before he's barking out a soft laugh. "You always forgave too easily, Tim."

"Only when it comes to you, Jason," came the steadfast reply, Tim feeling anything but as the fuse erupts with hope and joy and- and it's so much more, now that they're bonded, so much more _real_.

"I-" he hesitated, again, not because of doubt but for the startling shock of falling in love and realizing that the object of your affections has already loved you for as long as you've known them. "I love you, Tim."

Tim smiles, walks forward, crossing those few feet easier than he ever would have thought as he leans into Jason's embrace. "I love you, too, Jay."

_____________

It's a while before either of them even thinks about proposing. Most soulmate couples get married within the first few weeks of bonding, but Tim and Jason are both very aware of their problems, in the minefields that is their history. But they work hard at their relationship, talking and thinking and making things _work_.

It's not all perfect, and on some days Jason can't take it and he leaves, but never for more than a few days. And sometimes Tim shuts him out, shuts everything out, and the frustrations boil over and-

But there are good days. Really good days.

Days like the one where the sun sparkles on the bright ruby as Tim slips the ring onto Jason's finger.

Like the one where they said their vows, their bond igniting as they profess their love for each other(again and again).

Like the one where Jay brought Jackie home and the one where they signed his official adoption papers.

Like the one where they moved to a new apartment, further out of Gotham and bigger, and Jay and Jackie made forts out of packing boxes.

Like the one where they finally set down their mantles, passing them onto the new generation. 

Like the one where Tim held Jackie's hand down the aisle.

Like the one where Tim had gotten sick and Jason had held his hand while he lay in bed.

Like the one where their lips touched for the last time.

Like the one where they both finally succumbed to the only force greater than that of the love of two soulmates, hands intertwined with the other's and wrapped in each other's embrace, two peaceful smiles their last goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u liked this fic (and the cheesy as fuck ending), pls drop a comment or a kudos, they mean the world to me  
> I'm thinking about maybe fleshing this story out a little bit more in the future, maybe adding some of jasons pov during the bonding, but if u have any requests or questions, my ask box is always open:)

**Author's Note:**

> All three chapters are already completed, and will be posted over the course of JayTim Week, cuz I'm lazy and haven't written anymore prompt fills  
> if u liked it, pls drop a kudos or comment down below, they are what motivates me to keep writing and i absolutely love getting feedback:)  
> and as always, stay safe(as much as some of us can)!


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